


Rosemary

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Chapter and Verse (Varric Tethras x Min Hawke) [8]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: Hawke and Varric and a lonely moment together on the Wounded Coast.





	Rosemary

The Wounded Coast is a writer’s dream, or it would be, if it wasn’t such a miserable mix of windy and dry and unexpectedly cold.  Varric would like to write the whole place off, if it wasn’t for Hawke dragging him out here, again and again.

Of course, when she asks for his help in the Hanged Man, grin tugging at the edges of her lips, pale eyes dancing, he never says no.

He never sleeps well out here.  Hawke and Anders take a tent together, these days.  Which leaves him with Fenris or Merrill, Isabela or Aveline.  Aveline’s all elbows. Isabela smothers.  Fenris insists on sleeping under the stars with his sword in arm’s reach, and Merrill likes to sit up and stare at the moon late into the night.  So he rolls around, cursing every rock beneath his side, and waits impatiently for the morning.

He’s often the first one up.  Might as well be, if he can’t sleep.  Hawke finds him one morning tending the fire.  He’s stoked it with bits of branches from the edge of camp, and something burns, aromatic and sharp.  Rosemary, he thinks.

“Herbaceous,” she comments, emerging from her tent, rumpling her dark hair with one hand.  

“Only the best for our campsite,” he chuckles.  “Smugglers will find us by the scent alone.”

“I like it,” she says, yawning.  “Reminds me of Bethany’s cooking.  She’s always been big on herbs.”

“You know I don’t cook, Hawke.”

“Oh yes, I remember the Incident,” Hawke laughs.  “No fear, Varric, I don’t expect you to  make breakfast.  Merrill drew meal duty this trip, remember?”  She takes a seat beside him on an outcropping of rock, brushing against his shoulder as she does so. 

She doesn’t smell of rosemary.  She smells of vanilla.  Rather impressive, really, since Seheron’s the only exporter of vanilla he knows of.  Must have cost a bit, except Hawke’s damn thrifty.  Probably a gift from Blondie, carefully saved up for.  The thought socks him in the gut like a punch.

He tends the fire with a stick, breathes in the scent, fixes the way she leans against him deep in memory.  

“You think you’ll find what you’re looking for, out here?” Varric asks casually.

“Of course,” Hawke says, voice bright like a sparrow, like a robin, like something damn lovely.  He wishes he had the words.  “I’ve got you by my side, haven’t I?”“


End file.
